For almost-16 year-old Anne Devans, the
annual Renaissance Faire means three things--her dad spending weeks in the
smithy, her bipolar mom doing some manic costume making, and another ruined
birthday for her and her twin sister, Mary.

This year, Anne wants things to be
different, and she's going to do things her way. On the eve of the Faire, Anne,
along with a reluctant Mary, conjures up a spell that will make their 16th
birthday party a whirlwind event. Little do they know that it's a literal
request.

After the mini tornado in their room
subsides, the girls realize they've invoked the power of the Gemini Twins,
Castor and Pollux. That's the good news. The bad news is they also caught the
attention of a sorceress named Zeena who has been collecting children born
under each Zodiac Sign to enhance her power. Once she captures Anne and Mary,
Gemini twins, the entire Zodiac, and the world, will be hers.

Anne leads the fight against Zeena, but
her one-sided decisions could throw them into a world so far from home, even
the Renaissance Faire would seem like a brilliant vacation. Between managing
their new Zodiac powers, dodging their manic mother and trying to stop Zeena,
they'll get a 16th birthday they'll never forget.

The Renaissance
Faire wrecks my birthday every year. A month before the actors and merchants
arrive to transform Hopewell Falls Park into a sixteenth-century towne—yes,
with an “e”—Mom stops taking her lithium. Within forty-eight hours she’s higher
than a prom queen accepting her crown. As the best seamstress east of the
Appalachian Trail, she thinks it’s her duty to stay awake for days, surviving
on double espressos and cigarettes, to make the royal court’s costumes. She
says mania makes her more productive, but all it does is turn her into a raging
beast that puts Sauron, the Basilisk, and the Kraken all to shame.

Her internet
business, Devans’s Dazzling Dresses, caters to the Renaissance crowd and
occupies her all year long, but our local faire gives her the most sales.

“These orders
came in months ago. Why wait until the last minute to finish them?” I hover
near the doorway to the living room—a.k.a. Mom’s studio—and try not to choke on
the stagnant air. A wheeze plays at my lungs. I finger the inhaler that I
always carry in case I have to take a puff.

The room has
the best natural lighting in the whole house. A large bay window, stretching
from floor to ceiling, is the envy of every do-it-yourself crafter on the
block. I dream about curling up on the seat cushion with a book and a cup of
hot chocolate, but Mom never lets anybody in there. No. Matter. What.

I’d need to
wear a gas mask, anyway, to prevent an asthma attack.

Heavy-metal
music throttles my eardrums. I resist the urge to clap my palms over my ears.
Mom says she can draw energy from the sound waves. She thinks the bands create
their music specifically for her. No amount of lithium makes that go away.

“What else am I
supposed to do? This is how I create.” Her blue eyes spark with fury as she
takes a drag on her cigarette. Two inches of ash hang on the end. It’s beyond
me how it doesn’t fall off and burn the fabric she’s working on. At least the
dry cleaner can erase the smoky stench from her masterpiece after it’s done.
She throws a pincushion at me and returns to her ironing. “Now get out of here.
Don’t you have finals to study for or something?”

“But Mary’s and
my birthday is coming up and I wanted to talk to you—” My voice squeaks and
tears burn at my eyes.

I can’t even
get two sentences out and she’s in attack mode. My stomach twists on itself as
instinct claws at my chest, begging for clean air. Ask quickly and get out.
That’s the plan. I lick my dry lips. “We’re turning sixteen. It’s important.”

She plucks the
cigarette from her mouth and pulverizes it in a nearby ashtray. Her
nicotine-stained fingers shake, fumbling to light another one. It takes two
flicks for the lighter to ignite. Her cheeks hollow out as she sucks in along
drag. She holds it in for a few seconds, eyes closed in fleeting bliss, and
blows it out. The lines of her face—webbing crows’ feet, jagged wrinkles across
her forehead, arcs from her nose to the corners of her lips—deepen. Pale gray
fog surrounds her like she’s a smoldering dragon working up to the big
explosion of fire.

“Everything’s
about you and your sister, isn’t it? Well, did it ever occur to you that the
work I do helps pay the bills around here? I don’t see you bringing in a
paycheck.”

“Whatever.”
Like a defenseless knight who’s lost his courage, I retreat. I storm upstairs,
my ever-ready puffer in one hand while I wave away the haze of smoke with the
other. The whole house smells like stale nicotine and my asthma is flaring like
Jenny Johnson’s face that time she farted in gym class. I slam the door behind
me.

“No.” I take a
hit from my inhaler and flop on my paisley bedspread. Doesn’t matter that I
stare at the ceiling. Her accusation crashes over me like a tsunami. I roll on
my side to face her. “Yes.”

She runs her
hands through her curly espresso-colored hair and glares at me with her jade
eyes. “Why?”

“Why not? We’ve
never had a real, disaster-free birthday party because of the Renaissance
Faire. Isn’t it about time?” I refuse to surrender to her disapproval. She’d
never challenge Mom. At least I try. My Papillon dog, Castor, leaps on the bed.
The fringe of his sable ears flutter like streamers as he licks my cheeks.

Mary averts her
gaze and picks up his brother, Pollux. It was Mom’s idea to name them after the
Gemini twins. She called it “kitschy.” Pfft. Amazing she didn’t name us after
them.

“Well?” I sit
up. Castor’s and Pollux’s dark eyes stare at me with sympathy. The cozy bedroom
is their safe haven as much as it is ours.

“The more you
bother her, the less likely it is we’ll get a party. I bet she won’t bake a
cake this year, either.” She presses her chin against Pollux’s head.

“So it’s my
fault we won’t get a party?”

She winces. “I
didn’t say that.”

Regret presses
on my shoulders and slides down my spine to nestle in my gut like a snake. It
coils in my stomach, tail rattling with agitation. “I don’t mean to make things
worse.”

“I know,” she
barely whispers.

I take a deep
breath and imagine the regret snake spontaneously combusting and evaporating
into nothingness. Better than having it strike and lodge its fangs into my
liver. “What kind of cake would you want?”

“It would be
cool to have a tiered one, with piping and flowers. Maybe even edible pearl
candies or something.”

The corner of
her mouth hitches up.

Mary likes
pretty things. I prefer edgy. “What about one with a knight beheading a dragon
on top? Blood-red icing can trail down the sides and pool around the base.”

She scrunches
her nose and scratches behind Pollux’s ear. “Gross. Maybe we can get a Papillon
cake. It’d be so cute.”

It’s not a bad
idea.

Her half-smile
fades. “Doesn’t matter. Mom won’t go for any of it.”

“It’s so
unfair.” Amped on the pain of injustice, I launch myself to my feet and pace
our bedroom, from our window overlooking the wooded park across the street, to
the desk we share on the other side. The braided rug between our twin beds
massages my bare feet.

“Yeah, and what
are you going to do about it? Nothing, that’s what.” Mary cradles Pollux in her
arms and carries him to his doggie bed. After gently lowering him to the round
cushion, she stares at her closet, gaze scanning every inch, and taps her chin.
Sucking on her bottom lip, she falls into an OCD trance, and I’ve lost any
chance at wrangling her back into the conversation about Mom.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Laura Diamond is a board certified
psychiatrist and author of all things young adult paranormal, dystopian, and
horror. She’s a lucid dreamer, meaning she can direct her dreams while they’re
happening. When she’s awake, she pens stories from her dreams and shares them
with her readers.

Laura has many published titles
including the Pride Series (New Pride, Shifting Pride, soon to be re-released,
and Tsavo Pride), the Endure Series (Endure and Evoke, soon to be re-released),
The Zodiac Collector, a novella Sunset Moon in the Lore anthology, and several
shorts stories. When she’s not writing, she is working at the hospital, blogging
at Author Laura Diamond–Lucid Dreamer, and renovating her 225+ year old
fixer-upper mansion.

Bonus: Laura is giving an ecopy of the short story, Tsavo Pride, to everyone who purchases The Zodiac Collector--simply email her proof of purchase and she’ll send the short. Laura’s email: authorlauradiamond@gmail.com

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Hi, My name is Sandra, though for my blog I go by an adaptation of my middle name, Jeanz! I live in the UK, started blogging in Aug 2011. I have always loved books!. If a blurb catches my eye I will usually give reading it a go!

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